Princess of Denial
by x-x-Rhii-x-x
Summary: It's all because she wanted far more, and he wanted far too much. Puck/Quinn, slight Puckleberry. Dark.


_**He didn't know she could play piano. Puck/Quinn, a little Puckleberry. **_

**I don't own **_**Glee **_**or **_**Delilah**_**; they belong to Ryan Murphy and The Dresden Dolls. I do own Puck's song **_**Adelaide, **_**though.**

**XOXO**

Puck finds her desolate – sitting over the piano in the auditorium, playing a melancholy song that he doesn't recognise, the struggle to hold back her tears making her voice crack and break as she sings. He stands by the side door to the auditorium, too scared of being seen by her to risk going inside properly. Instead, he just holds the door half-open, and listens in the shadows. He didn't know she could play piano. She is halting and occasionally hits the wrong note, but it just adds to the awful, gut-wrenching emotion.

"…_and you thought you could change the world,  
By opening your legs,  
Well, it isn't very hard, try kicking them instead.  
And you thought you could change his mind,  
By changing your perfume to the kind his mother wore,  
Oh God, Delilah, why?  
I never met a more impossible girl…_"

She is sobbing openly now, and she can hardly draw breath, let alone sing, but she pushes on.

"_In this same bar where you slammed down your hand,  
And said 'Amanda, I'm in love',  
No, you're not, you're just a sucker for the ones who use you,  
And it doesn't matter what I say or do…_" her voice trails off, and she whispers the next line:  
"_The stupid bastard's going to have his way with you…_"

He doesn't know if she's singing about him, Finn or herself. Maybe she doesn't know, either. Maybe it doesn't really matter, in the end. She shambles her way through the chorus, crying so hard that Puck, listening intently, can only make out about three or four words. She pauses for a long while after that, breathing in heaving gasps of air. The piano continues: a haunting, aching melody for all that she once had and all that she's lost. All because she wanted far more, and Puck wanted far too much.

Puck wants desperately to go in; to hold her and comfort her – but what would he say? What could he possibly think of to say to her that she hasn't already heard? He can't say sorry. Not now.

"_At four o' clock, he got off,  
And you called up,  
'I'm down at Denny's on route one, and you won't guess  
What he's done'…is that a fact, Delilah?_" She screams the question, and Puck winces. Her voice, and this song, is crushing all the life from him.  
"_Larry Tap,_" she whispers, gasping for breath again, "_let you in,  
Through the back, and used his calling card again,  
For a quick hand…of gin…_"

He realises that this song is an expression of how useless and used she feels. She feels like a cheap whore, dirty and ancient beyond her years. But he loves her. In his own, twisted, shallow way, he loves her, and he knows she isn't like that. She _isn't_.

"_You are impossible, Delilah,  
The princess of denial…and after seven years in advertising,  
You are none the w-wiser…_" her voice wobbles uncontrollably, and she pushes herself away from the piano, punching at the keys and creating a messy cacophony of sound. She is irate, screaming curses at no one or nothing in particular. She is broken: her knuckles and lips cracked and bleeding, her hair falling down around her shoulders in wild waves of dirty blonde. The mascara she is wearing is streaked across her face, and she is wild, inconsolable – or at least, she would be inconsolable if Puck had the courage to go inside the hall and attempt to console her.

He doesn't have the courage, of course. He is terrified, and just as stricken and alone as she is, but unfortunately for them, this isn't a Hollywood movie – he can't just go in and confess his undying love and tell her that they can be each other's salvation in their time of need. No, real life doesn't work like that.

He can't close the door – she'd realise he'd been watching her, and that would make it all so much worse. So he stays, telling himself that he's just making sure that she doesn't hurt herself in this sorrowful rage.

They decided. They made this decision weeks ago. They have to have their baby adopted – they can't provide a child with the right kind of life, they both know that. But whatever the logical part of themselves tells them, there is always going to be a stronger, idealistic part of them that says _we love her; of course we can give her the right sort of life_. Well, Puck feels like that, and if Quinn Fabray's display right now is anything to go by, she feels that way too.

It's the fact that they've finally found a suitable family for their unborn daughter that has tipped Quinn over the edge, and sent Puck reeling. They can't handle the enormity of the decisions they have to make. Quinn already ruled out an abortion – that was a question he'd never even felt the need to ask her. He just knew that she wouldn't even consider it.

They've been together for a few months now, and Quinn is nearing the seven-month mark. They have been searching for suitable adoptive parents for their baby for weeks, but none have fit the bill until now, and they'd both managed to keep away from the reality of it all. Today, it hit them both full-force, and Quinn had run out of Glee when Finn had asked her, with a certain forced politeness, how the pregnancy was going. Actually, she hadn't just run out – first, she'd literally attacked Finn, clawing at his face with her sharp, manicured nails, kicking and slapping him, and beating her fists against his chest.

Puck hadn't moved to drag her off – he'd _known _that would only make it worse for her – but Mr Shue, Rachel and Kurt had waded into the one-sided fight. No one knew how, but Quinn had ended up with a split, bleeding lip. She had pushed Mr Shue so hard that he'd fallen over, and fled from the room.

It would have been funny to see Mr Shue sprawling on the floor with a shocked expression under normal circumstances, but it just so happens that these circumstances are anything but ordinary. And so, in Glee practice, after Quinn's _scene_, he didn't stand around pissing himself laughing as he would otherwise have done. He helped Mr Shue up, apologised politely (which made Mr Shue's shocked expression deepen, now that he thinks about it), and then he even checked to see if Rachel and Kurt were okay. He'd known that the only reason they both tried to pull Quinn away was because they didn't want to see Finn hurt or upset – they both still have their crushes on the Frankenteen; he can understand that much.

He'd waited a while before going off to find her. And now he has, he doesn't know what to do. He never knows what to do, and when he thinks he does, he just makes the wrong choices and it all blows up in his face.

As he stops thinking about his failings – it's far too painful and they're far too numerous – Quinn whirls around, her blonde hair whipping her face as she slumps down into a seat on the front row, her noisy sobs quieting to smaller whimpers and gasps.

"Noah," she whispers, so softly that he wonders if she really, truly said it, or if he's imagining things. Then she says his name again, and he inhales sharply. "Noah, I can't do it. I'll waste my life away counting the years until she comes to find me. And if she doesn't…what do I do then?" She pauses, wrapping a strand of hair around her finger carefully. "You won't stay with me. I can't keep you without her, Noah. You'll hate me, and you'll find some other Cheerio wannabe to fuck and leave and you'll do that over and over and over. And you'll never even give me a second glance, without her to tie you to me, will you?" She doesn't sound bitter; she's just stating the words as though they are fact. Puck doesn't know why she thinks this. He loves her. He'll love her without or without the baby. He _will_. He _can_.

"Noah, I…" she laughs weakly. It is a humourless, exhausted noise, and it expresses defeat. "Noah, I…can you imagine us married? Living in the same house? What if we had other kids?"

Puck rubs his eyes, and is astonished when his hands come away streaked wet with salty tears. He can't remember when he last cried. Quinn Fabray affects him in a way no one else ever has.

And he still can't bring himself to go inside the auditorium – to show her his tears, his feelings – so he slowly closes the side door. She doesn't seem to notice this, and as he walks away, his shoulders stoop and his eyes sting. Her words, spoken in what she thinks was secret, run on loop through his mind, ricocheting off the back of his skull like dozens of viciously pelted tennis balls, pounding in his ears, making his head rush and spin. _You won't stay with me._

**XOXO**

Silence.

They don't speak, not for the rest of that week, or any of the next, or the first few days of the week after that. There is something between them that keeps them apart. Thursday rolls around for the second time since she stormed out, and still Quinn doesn't show up for Glee practice. Mr Shue inquires as to her whereabouts, and Puck shrugs.

"Haven't seen her today," he says, not making eye contact with anyone. He's scared that if he does, they'll see right through his nonchalant façade, and he'll break down again. He's standing on a knife's edge, and the tiniest thing could slice and slash and stab through to his emotions. He sees Rachel watching him, and he prays that she won't come over and pull him to pieces.

She does come over, after Glee ends for the day, and he curses under his breath.

"Noah," she says to him, "Quinn was in the girl's bathrooms before practice."

"Uh, why are you telling me, Berry?" Puck asks her.

"Because she's…" Rachel flounders, unable to articulate herself correctly. A miracle, in Puck's opinion. "Just go and see."

"Just go and see her in the girls' bathrooms?" Puck raises an eyebrow. "That'll go down well with Principal Figgins, I'm sure."

"Principal Figgins won't have to know, unless you decide to walk in just as he walks past you, or something equally dumb," Rachel points out, quickly back to her verbose best. "Go, Noah," she adds, an urgent undercurrent to her tone. "You have to go."

He tells her fine, whatever, he'll go and see if he can find Quinn. Rachel doesn't look convinced, and says she'll walk him to the bathrooms to make sure he gets to Quinn. Puck doesn't understand why she's so keen on making him go to Quinn, but he gives in and lets her follow him to the bathrooms. She nods at him encouragingly as he hesitates by the door. It's long after school ended, and no one is in the corridor except the two of them, but he still has to steel himself to even stare at the closed door. Opening it will take a lot more – running away seems the most sensible option to him at this moment in time.

"Noah," Rachel whispers warningly to him, as though she has read his mind. "What are you waiting for?"

"Nothing," he replies, and pushes the door open before he can think too hard about it. Rachel nods again, this time satisfied, and then she rushes off down the hallway, heading straight for the exit. Puck steps into the bathroom. One of the cubicles, the one at the very end, is locked. He goes over to it, an unknown feeling building up inside him.

"Quinn?" He asks quietly. She doesn't respond, but he knows it's her in there. She has always smelt slightly like lilacs in the rain. He wonders briefly when he became so fucking poetic. "Quinn, talk to me. We have to talk."

She is silent for a few seconds more, and then he hears a bolt drawing back. When she opens the door, he gasps. She is standing there with a blue marker in one hand, a red one in the other. The walls of the cubicle are covered in words – bright blue, dark crimson, words that bleed into each other and words that stand alone. Smudged words and clear words. His head reels at the sight of it.

Some of the words leap out at him, and he reads them.

_Noah, adoption, baby, lost, scared, tears, kill, Noah, leave, abandon, grieve, Noah, Quinn, I can't do this, cheerleading, football, love, Noah, Noah, NOAH._

That last one is the biggest of all the letters and words she's sketched and scribbled. It stretches out in cerulean over the entire back wall, the toilet below it a dull shade of creamy-white in comparison. Puck doesn't know what to do, as usual, but for once he doesn't mind not knowing. _Sometimes_, he thinks, _you don't have to have all the answers_. He opens his arms to her, and she steps into his embrace.

**XOXO**

"What will your mom say?" Quinn asks Puck for the tenth time in about as many minutes, seven and a half months into her pregnancy. Puck shrugs.

"She'll cope with it," he tells her. He's being honest. He thinks his mom'll deal with what they're going to tell her. She's okay, as moms go, and she's not _too_ religion-crazed, most of the time. She took the news that Quinn was pregnant well enough. After drinking her way through an entire weekend. But if she came to terms with that bombshell, she'll manage this one. Hopefully.

They've asked Puck's mom if they can talk to her. She's packed his little sister off to her best friend's house for a sleepover party, and she's cooking something that doesn't smell too promising in the kitchen. Puck and Quinn sit in the lounge nervously. What his mom says won't make any difference to their decision, but they both think it'd be nice to have her approval and backing.

When they all sit down together for dinner, Quinn looks a little pale. Puck's mom smiles at her and asks if she's okay.

"Yes, Mrs Puckerman," Quinn replies, trying to smile back. She doesn't quite manage it, and Puck's mom notices. Her smile stays in place, but her eyes grow more concerned.

"Right, what did you want to talk about?" She says, getting straight to the point. Puck takes a deep breath.

"Mom," he says, "Quinn and I have decided that…well, we're gonna keep…the baby."

His mother's smile slips from her face instantly, and her mouth drops open. She puts her fork down carefully, and stares at her son and his girlfriend in utter silence for a few minutes. When she has collected her thoughts, she speaks.

"Well," she says. "I know I can't change your minds. As long as you're both totally sure," she says, with a pointed glance at Puck. Okay, once he may have shrugged off responsibility like an ill-fitting jacket, but now, he's changed. He's definitely more mature than he was a few months back – they both are. Since he found Quinn in the girls' bathroom, they've sorted things out a bit. He's saving up his money, and she apologised to Finn and Mr Shue, and came back to Glee. They're just the seeds of a bigger change –things that could make a big difference for them in the long run, when the picture comes together as a whole.

"Yeah, Mom, we're sure." They are. "But you're okay with this?" He asks, surprised. He expected her to shout at least a little.

"I'm not happy, but there are a lot of things I don't like in life, and I deal with them." Mrs Puckerman's voice shakes a little, but otherwise, she's calm. Quinn lets out a breath, and instantly sucks one in again, her eyes widening in pain.

"Quinn? Quinn, what is it?" Puck yells.

"Ah – nothing. Just a Braxton Hicks." Quinn says. Puck nods. It surprises even him that he – the guy who didn't know chicks don't have prostates – knows what a Braxton Hicks contraction is, but he does. It's all his mom's fault – she bought him about a dozen baby books after she found about him and Quinn, and she made him read every single page of every single one.

They continue eating for a while, with Puck making slightly awkward small talk with his mom, trying to pretend that a momentous decision hasn't just been announced. Quinn remains quiet, but she does tend to be a bit more introspective than she was as a Cheerio, so Puck and his mom don't question her silence. Puck _does_ question the second Braxton Hicks contraction she has, about ten minutes later. She shrugs.

"I'm okay," she says, her voice small. "It just surprised me, that's all." The look of anxiety in her eyes tells a different story, but Puck nods and they continue eating the rubbery lasagne Puck's mom has made for them all. The small talk dries up as an odd feeling of tension settles over them like a thick blanket of fog.

By the time they finish, Quinn has had two more contractions, each one making her wince and groan just a little more than the last. Each time, Puck looks at her in concern, and she tells him it's okay, she's fine, it's nothing.

When they are finished eating, Quinn asks if she can be excused, and stands abruptly. As she heads from the room, a scream tears from her lips. Puck is at her side in a hundredth of a second.

"Quinn! What is it? What's happening?"

"M-my waters j-just broke…" she whimpers as tears begin rolling down her cheeks. "It's too early!" She cries, panicking.

"Stay calm, Quinn, dear," Mrs Puckerman is quick to speak. She's calm and in control, which is more than Puck can say about himself. "Noah, get Quinn into the truck – I'll pack her an overnight bag and be down in a minute." His mother orders him into action effortlessly, and he obeys her without question. She's his mom – if she doesn't know what to do, no one does.

"It'll be okay, Quinn," he tries to sound soothing as he leads her out of the back door and shepherds her into the back seat of his truck.

"Noah, it's too early!" Quinn repeats. "What if -" she stops herself when she sees the look forming on his face.

"Don't think like that." Puck's voice is sharp. "Quinn, calm down, it'll make it worse if you stress out," he adds in a softer tone. She looks up at him, her breathing slightly heavier than usual, and her eyes wide with unspoken pain.

"Noah," she starts, but another contraction grips her, and his mom comes outside and piles into the back seat next to Quinn, dropping the hastily thrown-together bag of essentials into the front passenger seat.

"Noah, drive." The command is all it takes to get Puck away from Quinn's side and into the driver's seat. He jams the key into the ignition and the engine roars to life. Putting his foot on the accelerator, he speeds through the small Lima streets. It is dark, but not late: people are still on the streets, and they stare at the truck as it breaks about a dozen traffic laws right in front of their eyes. Puck doesn't care what anyone thinks about his driving at the moment – Quinn is the main priority. Quinn and the baby. Their baby.

It all happens in a blur when they arrive at the hospital – Quinn is whisked into the maternity ward, pushed into a private room and given gas and air. Her contractions become more and more regular and more and more agonising, and a bunch of nurses stand around, monitoring the baby's heartbeat and doing checks to make sure that the baby does not take a turn for the worse. Quinn was five centimetres dilated when they reached the hospital, and just three-quarters of an hour later, she is eight centimetres. Puck holds her hand whenever the nurses aren't busy fussing around her and sticking needles in her and whatever else they have to do.

Quinn squeezes his hand tightly. He's read about women breaking bones in their partners' hands, but Quinn doesn't really come close to that, although at times, her grip makes him wince a little.

When their baby is born, about two hours later, she does not cry. The nurses apologise and whisk her away, calling for a doctor. Quinn drops Puck's hand and stares into space stony-faced. She's holding back her emotions until she can face up to them. Puck kisses her forehead, but refrains from speaking. No words would be right, and so he goes into the corridor, where his mother is waiting.

"I saw them take a baby past," she says. He nods, slumping down in the red plastic chair next to hers.

"Yeah."

They sit in silence for a minute or two, and then Puck gets out his cell phone. Without thinking too much, he rings Rachel.

"Noah?" She sounds surprised when she picks up the phone to hear his voice. "What is it?"

"Quinn's had the baby," he tells her, and then he finds himself telling her all of it, every single fucking torturous moment of it. His mom sits beside him, listening in without comment.

"Oh Noah," Rachel says. "Shall I come down?"

"If you want to," he says, unsure of whether this is a good idea or not. Thirty-seven minutes later, he is back in Quinn's room when his mom pops her head around the door.

"Noah, dear…" she says, and he knows that Rachel has arrived. What he doesn't expect, upon going back out into the corridor, is to see the entire Glee club waiting there – everyone from Mr Shue to Mike and Matt are standing there, some looking bewildered, others worried. Rachel leaps at him and embraces him so tightly that he thinks he might just die from asphyxiation.

"You came," he says simply, as she lets him go.

"Of course," she replies, as though it is obvious that she would. "We all wanted to offer our support."

"Uh, yeah," Mr Shue says lamely. He's never been too great with dealing with the Glee kids' traumas, but at least he's willing to try. Puck forces a smile onto his face.

"Thanks," he says, genuinely grateful for the fact that they are here, but unsure as to how Quinn will react. "But maybe – if you could all stay here until we get news about the baby…"

"Of course! Yes, sure!" Everyone choruses, eager to be sensitive and tactful.

"Thanks," Puck repeats, feeling a little like a broken record. He doesn't know just how broken until a balding, middle-aged doctor comes into Quinn's room a little while later and tells them the news. The news that words can't justifiably describe.

Quinn gets up from the bed, and is out of the door before either Puck or the doctor can restrain her. She rushes through the ward, heading for the door that leads to the corridor. The nurses watch, unsure as to whether or not they should stop her. Puck flies after her, and the doctor gives chase just a second or two after. She is in the corridor when they catch up to her. His mom and the Glee club stare; all of them want to know what's happened, what's going on. Quinn turns to the doctor, screaming at him:

"Where is _my baby_?"

The doctor tries to offer a consoling hand out to her, but she slaps it away, spinning around. "My baby's dead!" She yells, and everyone shivers, turning their eyes from Quinn, to the doctor, to Puck. The doctor grabs hold of Quinn, and begins to lead her off down the corridor. She is still struggling, yelling things incoherently. Puck realises dimly that his mom and most of Glee club are looking directly at him. He figures out why when he tastes saltwater. None of them have seen him cry before, except Finn and his mom, of course.

Without saying a word to any of them, he bolts down the polished, squeaky-floored corridor after Quinn and the doctor. _My baby's dead._

**XOXO**

"Noah?" The name hurts. He needs to feel strong, invincible, _Puck_. _Noah_ reminds him of everything he really feels, the person he really is.

"Rach," he says, loud enough for her to hear from downstairs. He'd recognise her voice anywhere. And he knows that she's the only one who would ever have enough guts to come over to his house to check on him. It's been just over a month since that night at the hospital, and he's not coping. Totally not coping. He's done everything from Glee storm-outs to punching Karofsky until the hockey-team jock actually _begged _for mercy. Principal Figgins had not been pleased when it happened, but at least Karofsky hasn't picked on any of Glee club since. Mind you, it _has _only been a week, and he wouldn't put it past Karofsky to completely forget this particular lesson by next week.

"Noah," Rachel says again, and he can hear the light footfalls as she makes her way up the stairs to his room. She opens the door and walks in without knocking, and she doesn't even raise an eyebrow at the few dozen Playboy magazines covering his bed, mostly ripped into pieces. Loose bits of paper flutter down to the floor now and again, to join the crumpled up tissues littering the carpet. He doesn't mind when she crinkles up her nose at _those_. "Noah, please tell me they haven't been used for what I'm worrying they've been used for."

"Don't worry," he tells her, a trace of amusement fleeting across his features. "I've got a cold."

"Is that why you weren't at school today?" Rachel asks, giving the tissues a suspicious second glance as she sits down on his bed. He shakes his head.

"I couldn't, Rach." He puts his head in his hands. "I still fucking love her, Rach, but she won't talk to me."

"I know," Rachel says to him, and her expression is suddenly a lot gentler, a lot more tentative. "It's been hard for her too, I know, but…maybe she feels guilty about something?"

She tries to sound innocent, as if she is suggesting something that only just struck her, but the way she says the words makes him think that maybe Rachel knows more than she's letting slip. He looks her directly in the eye, and she turns her eyes to the floor swiftly, as if afraid that he'll read something in her expression and realise what she's hiding from him.

"What, Rach?" His laugh is bitter, hollow. "What does _Quinn _have to feel guilty about?"

"N-nothing," Rachel mutters. "I shouldn't have said anything, Noah. I'm sorry."

"No, Rach, what is it?" His voice is louder than before. "Please, Rachel. She's hasn't spoken to me in fucking weeks. I need to know anything you can tell me."

"She…she…Noah, I don't want to cause trouble," she pleads with him, but he is unmoved. He shoots her a look which shuts her up at once. She hesitates, and he suddenly sees how much she cares about this. About him. She opens her mouth again, and this time, an explanation slips from her lips. "She…slept with Finn, Noah."

He doesn't know how to respond to her words. The ability to think returns to him in a cascade of blinding hurt, and he croaks:

"When?"

"After…that storm out she did. You know, the one where she attacked Finn and ran out, and you didn't speak for a few weeks?"

He blinks at her, unable to believe it. But Rachel isn't some malicious cheerleader that wants him in her pants. She wouldn't lie about something so serious. He stares at Rachel for a few moments, and then he sees something in her gaze – if he asked her to sleep with him for revenge, she'd do it. If he asked her to marry him, she'd accept his proposal.

Puck wonders how he never noticed just how much Rachel has come to care for him. He wonders what he should do. If Quinn wasn't real, if she was just a horrible, whacked-out dream, he'd get together with Rachel in an instant. She's beautiful, talented and slightly-crazy, but she believes in him, and she's been here for him, and…he stops his thoughts there. He can't go into the depth of his feelings for Rachel. He's already ruined one girl's life, not to mention his own.

Lost for something to say now, he blurts out the first thing that comes into his head. "We were fighting over what to call her," he tells Rachel, who tears her gaze from his shoulder and meets his eyes. He sees the tears forming on her sweeping eyelashes, and wants nothing more than to kiss her pain away. But that just isn't an option. Now, or ever. He can't give Rachel Berry the unwavering devotion and adoration she deserves.

"Did you…ever decide on her name?" Rachel whispers, and Puck nods.

"I wrote her a song, the day after we decided on her name."

"Have you tried singing it?"

"No."

"Play it. It might help, Noah."

He's about to say no, how can he play something that he wrote for his baby girl when she's _dead_, and she'll never be able to tell him whether it's sweet or corny? But Rachel is staring at him with those soulful brown eyes, and he knows he'll sing it for her, for his little girl, for everything that he can't get back. Silently, he nods, and Rachel retrieves his guitar from under his bed. She holds it out, and their hands brush as she passes it to him. They look away from one another hastily, both trying desperately hard to pretend that there was no spark, no electric reaction as skin touched skin.

He bites his lip, and makes sure the guitar is tuned before beginning. Soft tendrils of music weave their way through the air, making Rachel's eyes gleam and glisten in the light. Puck knows that this is the moment that something will change. What will change, he doesn't know. Whether it will be for better or worse, well, he doesn't know that either. Regardless, he opens his mouth, and begins singing as if his entire life depends on the lyrics of this one song.

"_She's a hallelujah  
in the morning light,  
unborn beauty,  
a humbling sight._

_She's a matter of faith,  
and God won't leave me alone,  
I'll burn down my house  
So I can call her my home…_

_She's like Adelaide,  
With all the sunshine and the bitter taste of rain,  
Makes the shadows of pain,  
Just go away…  
And as the world cleans my soul today,  
I know I can make this great,  
Like Adelaide._

_She's a picture unseen  
but a life that's real,  
a shelter where  
my heart can heal.  
_

_She's a matter of faith,  
and God, well he just won't leave me alone,  
I would burn down this house of stone  
just to call her my home…_

_She's like Adelaide,  
With all the sunshine and the bitter taste of rain,  
Makes the shadows of my pain,  
Just go away…  
And the world cleans my soul today,  
I know I can make this great,  
Like Adelaide._"

He finishes with a single haunting note, and it is only then that he sees the pattern of saltwater running noiselessly down Rachel's cheeks. Ignoring his own tears, he reaches over and pulls Rachel into an awkward embrace. They hold one another as if they are in danger of breaking at any second.

She looks at him and takes in a ragged breath. Her eyes hold all of her love for him and all of her understanding that the bond he has with Quinn will never be broken, no matter how wispy and frayed it gets at times. He can't look at her, and he thinks that this is the second time his heart has broken in just over a month. Soon, there'll only be splinters left.

Rachel makes as if to move away, to leave. Puck isn't sure he's ready for that, so he pulls at her. His lips meet hers lightly, with all the promises of what could be, if only he didn't love someone else. When he lets her go, he whispers softly to her:

"I do love you, Rachel." It's true. She's his best friend, the one who's made all this a tiny bit more bearable. But he's not _in love_ with her – not the soul-destroying, destructive and yet passionate force of feeling he has for Quinn. "Maybe in another lifetime," he says, swallowing her sadness with his lips one last time.

She is already out of his bedroom door when he hears her respond hoarsely. "Maybe."

**XOXO**

Puck heads for the auditorium. He wants to just sit down and sing in peace. It's the day after he spoke to Rachel and found out about Quinn's betrayal. The weird thing is, now that he's calmed down, he doesn't feel so betrayed. Yes, he gave up sex for Quinn. But he wasn't prepared to at first. So really, it's just what he deserves. Karma, he thinks it's called. He can't be mad, because she's forgiven all of his transgressions. He can surely find it in him to forgive hers. And Finn's.

He hasn't told Finn that he knows. Let the quarterback think that it's still a secret. It doesn't really matter now. All that matters is Quinn, and he hasn't seen her all day.

He's seen Rachel, unfortunately. He'd kind of wanted to avoid her after the scene last night, but no such luck. They'd locked eyes in the canteen, and he'd seen that hers were red-rimmed and bloodshot, as if she'd been doing nothing but crying. He'd been stricken with guilt, but then she'd looked away from him, and said something to Kurt, who was beside her, looking concerned.

His and Rachel's moment has passed, he's come to realise. They had their chance to transcend all other bonds and loyalties and loves last night, but they just couldn't do it. He's not sure whether to be glad or to add it to the constantly growing list of things he has to mourn for.

At the door to the auditorium, he pauses. The tune on the piano is one he recognises – it's the song Quinn sung on the day she stormed out of Glee club and he listened by the door, too scared to go in. Rationally, Puck knows that the fact that he didn't go in doesn't make a difference. It wouldn't have changed anything if he had stepped inside and spoken to her, but he feels regret. As if he made a mistake that day. The piano continues, but no voice accompanies it. Almost in slow motion, Puck reaches out a hand to push open the door to the auditorium.

When the door opens, she turns around. She's not crying, but she's still pressing the keys down in the semblance of a song. She looks at him for a long time. He takes a few steps towards the piano and the woman he loves. She stands painfully, almost arthritically, and walks up to meet his outstretched arms.

It won't make everything magically better, but he's no longer just splinters, and she's not the Princess of Denial. It's a step towards healing up the bone-deep lacerations, and maybe, just maybe, they can take it together and put the past to rest.


End file.
